Month: August 2008

Jamaica needs to write a letter, and we need to send it to all the unknown and often unsung musicians, writers, actors, dancers, and researchers who built the bedrock of much of our culture though we know nothing of their work. I thought about this when, in amongst the regular junk and jokes that clog my mailbox, I received from Herbie Miller, an article on trumpeter Dizzy Moore, who is currently battling cancer.

This article reminded me that there are so many Jamaicans who remain relatively unheralded, and even when they receive some recognition, the country has still not been able to adequately find ways to ensure that even a quarter of the story (that we could dare to beg for a half) of the story is told.

So, as I wracked my brain to figure out what to blog about this week (and I have discovered that blogging can be complicated business in which I think they should be offering postgraduate courses) I decided that rather then attempt to fill your brain with complicated nonsense, I would simply allow Herbie some space. The space is needed, because, as Miller points out in his email, the story is unlikely to be carried in the dailies. Of course, the beauty of the blog is that all, sundry and their mother, can grab a key pad and draw a long bench and wax philosophical or simple give some much need space to things and people that matter (and even some who don’t – at least not to the general public). And so this week, I donate this space, as a very small token of thanks, to a man whose name I did not know, but whose influence I have clearly felt with every stomp of my feet, and bop of my head.

“In my view language was the most important vehicle through which that power fascinated and held the soul prisoner. The bullet was the means of the physical subjugation. Language was the means of spiritual subjugation” Ngugi wa Thiong’o

It is the eve of Independence … the 46th for this country, Jamaica – Land we should love and I cannot help but reflect on an article I read in the Jamaica Observer last week. It was, without a doubt the greatest piece of rubbish I had read in the newspapers in a long time – though in fairness to the writer (whose name I’m glad to have forgotten) I haven’t read the newspapers in a long time with the exception of getting my Calvin and Hobbes fix.

So, this gentleman, armed with a thick hide of ignorance proceeds to lambast all those who would propose to teach patois, or Jamaican Creole in schools. The writing is indeed awesome, as piling such nonsense atop other nonsense must be an enviable skill and cannot come accidentally. Clearly having misread V.S Naipaul (who at least backs his venom with sterling literary skill) he remarks that patois was not built upon ancient architecture but was instead crafted by people who were not able to benefit from instruction in their native language nor in the tongue of their masters. It seems then, that all other languages must have fallen from the sky in a manna-esque fashion. This cannot be an argument made in defense of English – a language that has borrowed so heavily it confuses it self!

Furthermore, this writer clearly has no grasp of the full impact of language and the value of beginning linguistic instruction in the mother tongue which provides a good base upon which other languages can be built. Let’s face it, Jamaica needs to be multilingual. English alone cannot be our salvation, and fully allowing our children to understand English begins by valuing their first language.

The article was probably inspired by the announcement that the Bible Association of Jamaica intends to translate The Good Book into patois. I say, kudos to them. Those who object to the Bible being translated into patois are probably still under the illusion that Jesus and Shakespeare spoke the same language. Though it might irk some people, it must be realized the “Verily, Verily I say unto thee…” is indeed a translation. The article further highlights the brilliance of British colonization, that 46 years after Independence we still suffer from such feelings of inferiority, such a mis/understanding of ourselves and the contributions that this country has made to the world.

I caught the revue Season Rice (written by Amba Chevannes and Karl Williams and directed by Michael Daley) recently. Season Rice featured sketches with two of our national heroes – Paul Bogle and Nanny of the Maroons. These sketches, hilarious pieces which lampoon modern Jamaica while attempting to contrast it with the modern situation, come to mind now. In the piece with Paul Bogle (played by Rodney Campbell) the statue attempts to correct the ills of the contemporary Jamaica – offering a swift kick in the butt where necessary only to be shunted off to storage. I had a few problems with the piece on Nanny, as the sketch spoofed her as well, and I thought that the hilarity of a roadside hairdresser attempting to bleach out Nanny’s dark complexion (cause “maroon naaw wear again) would be even more hilarious if Nanny was played stronger and straight.

Nonetheless, the sketches highlight how irrelevant our heroes and their sacrifices have become to contemporary Jamaicans as we attempt to chase the not too mighty (Jamaican at least) dollar and shove it down the constantly hungry throats of the SUVs clogging the streets. Maybe, these heroes can no longer help us. We give token credence and memory to Sam, Norman, Paul, Nanny, Marcus, George, and Alexander, but we pay them no real heed. We cannot seem to see what their sacrifice and work has to do with us.

Maybe then we should look to Batman. The Dark Knight has done so much for Gotham, including sacrificing his own status as hero. And clearly, Jamaica is filled with too many jokers, even more menacing than Heath Ledger’s performance. More than any other superhero, it is Batman whom we may need. Yet, Natalie Barnes was certainly on to something with her Justice League painting which portrayed popular figures in Jamaica as varying Super Friends. Of course, if she is, not even Batman may be able to help us.

Alas, as Jamaica prepares o celebrate its 46th year of Independence with the return of the street parade and grand gala, we might consider that there is a light at the end of the tunnel, one that will not blind us, but will instead give clarity. Maybe, the ignorance spewed forth in the article mentioned above is in the minority. Maybe, the strong sense of self witnessed in our culture is not an illusion or veneer. Maybe, the violence ripping our country apart has nothing to do with self-hate, or poverty, or hopelessness. But then again, I still believe in Sam, Paul, Nanny, George, Alexander, Marcus, Norman and Batman.